


When I Go There

by alishakes



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, friends being assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:31:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alishakes/pseuds/alishakes
Summary: '"It's a benefit!" Lin had excitedly informed him. He'd come bounding into Jon's apartment like an overeager puppy. The call sounded urgent, and Lin had demanded to speak with Jon as soon as possible. How was he to know that this could have as easily been done over the phone?'Jon and Lin just need to sort their shit out, really.





	When I Go There

Stepping onto the stage, each step as deliberately measured as the last, he sucked in a deep breath. Blinding lights greeted him, their sharp teeth curving into a malicious smile. Jon's hands shook as he grasped the microphone, palms lightly sweating against the warm metal casing. Under the stage lights he stood, their oppressive glare baring down on him. He always felt this way on stage; he felt like the whole audience could see him. Not just that, they could see through him. See his thoughts and feelings and take them for their own. Dissect them (dissect him) for their own amusement. Every time the familiar heat came pushing on his body, he felt like everyone watching was simultaneously ripping him apart, exposing his red organs to the world and stuffing them back in, then stitching him back together again with violin strings in the place of thread and his own bones as the needle, the implement’s eye carved with a shattering vibrato.

  
He was raw and exposed on a stage, a thing he was hyper aware of. Especially tonight.    
His eyes had fluttered shut, lashes casting harsh shadowed streaks across his cheekbones. Concentrating, feeling the still air tensely pulsate around him kept him grounded while he anticipated the first guitar stroke.

  
The drumbeat in his chest jolted in a syncopated rhythm, each burning spasm a reminder that he's still there, still under those predatory lights, thousands of eyes still glaring and planning his demise. Except for one set of eyes. They were just... watching. Waiting, perhaps. Observing in the hopes that something extraordinary might happen.

 

***

  
The phone call had come three weeks prior.   
“It’s a benefit!” Lin had excitedly informed him. He’d come bounding into Jon's apartment like an overeager puppy. The call sounded urgent, and Lin had demanded to speak with Jon as soon as possible. How was he to know that this could have as easily been done over the phone?

“The show’s for Broadway Cares; Rory asked us to help out.” Lin explained, greeting Jon’s sofa with his butt. This left Jon gaping; the man had bounded into his apartment, stripped of his hoodie and made himself acquainted with the furniture in under thirty seconds. Impressive. 

  
Jon looked down at Lin from where he was stood. Lin’s hair was mussed and falling from the thin elastic band, and his eyes were bright, his whole body practically vibrating with excitement. He grinned in anticipation, practically levitating out of his seat.

“The whole cast are coming back to New York for this thing; it's gonna be great!” 

Lin continued excitedly, already on a tangent about potential performances and plans for them. Jon was reeling from the information overload, disguising it with a fond smile.  

“So?” Lin finished, catching his breath. “How about it?” 

Jon turned away from Lin, deliberating. He couldn't see Lin’s face fall. The voice behind him dropped all it's energy, and a softer, almost timid tone replaced it. Afraid of rejection.

  
“Please, Groff? We'd love you to do something.”

  
He turned his head a fraction, and was met with pleading doe eyes, potent enough to melt the iciest heart. Brown eyes were pulled wide, eyebrows tugging together in a caricature of innocence. Lin's full lips were slightly parted, and he could see the slightly damp shine from where it’s compulsively bitten.

“Maybe from Spring Awakening.” Lin turned the end of the sentence up, more of a question than anything else.

  
How could he say no to someone like Lin?   
Jon's shift in demeanour from deliberation to resignation was an apparent sign, as a smile tugged on Lin's lips. To this, Jon couldn’t help but smile, as Lin dragged him back onto the couch (his own couch, it was still his damn apartment). Jon found himself in Lin's arms and, after a moment, relaxing into them. Lin sat back, pulling Jon's body with him. From the point on Lin’s chest, he could feel the brush of hair, the vibrations of speech as Lin mumbled.

  
“C'mon. I was promised comfort hugs and crappy movies.”

  
A nudge. “I made that promise because I thought something was wrong, Jackass.” Lin huffed softly, as if to disregard Jon’s point. “Y’know, calling me up urgently and all that. You worried me.” A smile. Jon could breathe for a little while.

  
With gentle movements, Lin settled himself while trying not to jostle Jon. In the end, he gave up wiggling against the fabric (it was making a horrible scratching sound) and gingerly laid his head atop Jon’s. All was still, the sound of their breathing an unoppressive quasi silence. They leaned into the stillness, finally unmoving. The normally restless men felt a strange contentment wash over them, dragging them to shore. The gritty sand of a long awaited paradise extended a welcoming hand. So, of course, the spell would be broken by Lin giggling to himself.

  
“Wha’” Jon mumbled, words half swallowed by Lin's shirt.

  
His snickers grew until his chest was straining, racketeering with tiny vibrations. Voice laced with teasing mirth, Lin let out a “For the love of God, please promise you won’t do ‘Mama Who Bore Me'”

  
Jon met this remark with a swift, painless slap to the chest. Lin met the action with a squawk of indignation.

  
Just as normal.

  
(Jon pretended that was okay.)

  
The next three weeks found the two of them doing nothing but but drilling the schedule, trying their best at coordinating with everyone else involved. Rory, Brian and Jon were to be performing You'll Be Back, each last one trying to outperform the other. In the rehearsals, it had gone without a hitch, Renee left in stitches by the three's dynamics. They bounced off of each other perfectly, using their own royal signature sass and walks to their advantages. (Rory was adamant that he was the sassiest; Jon was adamant he had the best walk; Brian was convinced he was the best full stop.) Rory swore up and down that he still had something in the works to really tip the scales though, something special for the actual live performance. Brian suspected it was Velcro pants. 

  
Jon collapsed onto the bench, a healthy glisten of sweat adorning his forehead. Panting slightly, he slumped in his position, just to be reprimanded by a surprise Lin, making a snide comment about posture while swatting at him with a rolled up booklet. Wordlessly, Jon caressed the side of the other man’s face with a sweaty palm, receiving a heated glare for his trouble.

  
“Dang, Groffsauce. You stink.”

  
Like the child he is, Jon stuck his tongue out at Lin (who pointedly ignored the taunt).

  
“Anyway, you have any ideas about what song you're doing yet?”

  
“Nah,” he lied. “I haven’t given it much thought,” he continued to lie.

  
Jon hadn’t been avoiding his solo, quite the opposite really. He often stayed at the studio late in order to drill the notes, familiarising himself with the melody and getting to know with the parts he didn’t sing as Melchoir. It’s just that he didn’t want anyone else around. He knew, intellectually, that he’d have to let someone else hear soon. But damn if stage fright was a bitch. He loved musicals because in that scene, in that moment, you’re nothing but your character. You’re wearing someone else's emotions, living someone else's life. You can be reduced to an archetype or a trope, something that can’t be done to complex people. In that instant, it’s just his painted emotions and the people seeing them. But singing as Jon, for queer kids in fucking June because Lin was a caring shithead was nothing short of a nightmare. He hated people being able to see him, looking at him under those stage lights. Honestly, how pathetic is it really that an actor gets stage fright?

Renee pulled him aside once Lin accepted defeat, no longer pushing the song choice. She dragged him to a corner, barricading him in with her body. She stared at him for a moment, reading his face.

“You do know you're gonna have to tell him at some point, right?”

Jon stopped, water bottle halfway to his mouth. He allowed himself a brief moment of gaping before asking for clarification. 

“Tell him what? The song?”

Renee looked at him pitifully. Her kind eyes widened in partial disbelief. “Oh honey,” she grazed Jon’s bicep. “You don't even know yet.” 

“Know what?” 

She just chuckled and gently shook her head. Muttering something under her breath, she turned on her heel. Jon concluded, watching her walk away, that he needed better friends.

  
So he postponed, waited until the last minute to fill the coordinators in on his song choice. Lin looked at him in a somewhat conflicted manner when he told him what song he was performing.

Jon had caught him in the hallway, each in a rush to their respective destinations. Deft fingers circled Lin's bicep, and it took every ounce of self control to stop them twitching in place. He relayed the information, barely registering the fluttering of his heart as he gauged Lin’s face for any reaction to the song.

  
“That’s, uh,” Lin stammered, carding through his hair with a free hand, eyes catching on the grip on his arm. “that’s a bold choice.”

  
That’s to say the least.

  
Jon removed his hand and shoved it in his pocket, faking nonchalance. Jon replied, “Yeah, well. This is about teenagers, for teenagers, and I think it’s important to normalize sex around them.”

  
“Yeah.” Lin looked up. Jon’s breath hitched. Lin looked away. “Good choice.”

The air thickened as the two of them leaned into the atmosphere they'd just manufactured. The tension was palpable, and they opened themselves to the imbalance, the sudden tangible shift. A creeping heat emerged as their eye contact remained solid, unbroken.

  
Jon had to walk away, his entire body aflame.   
Back at the piano, he could barely focus, his mind dragging back to the raw look Lin had given him. He felt like he was under those stage lights again, being yanked apart in seven different directions only to be stapled together again, as carelessly as one would to exhausted sheet music. But most unsettlingly is that Jon didn’t mind. He didn’t mind Lin's eyes raking over his skin, taking him apart with nothing but the hot, heavy air as a futile buffer.

  
Jon snatched the music from a nearby stand, glaring through each quaver with an unwarranted hatred.

  
They all continued the same old song and dance, Jon hiding himself away to practice, leaving only to run through the trio.

  
It was a mere three days before the event that Lin had taken off. Hasty, unconvincing excuses and half assed promises of his return the only trace of his flight. It left everyone anxious to say the least. 

  
“Where do you think he could be?” Rory had leaned in conspiringly on one occasion, between instruction. Brian joined them on the shared bench, wordlessly sipping a Gatorade. Jon turned to face the other men, shrugging as he did so.

  
“Don’t know, don’t care.”

  
To this, Rory gave a wide eyed stare and Brian softly snorted.

  
“What!” Jon demanded.

  
“Oh Jon,” Brian rose again to put his now empty bottle in the bin. He rolled his eyes as Rory snickered behind him. “I'll tell you when you’re older.”

Yep. He definitely needed better friends.

  
So, as much as he hated to say it, the night had finally arrived. A suit fitting here- an expense that cost a pretty penny but it did hug him in all the right places. A sound check there- the last full run through (Lin’s mysterious absence did not go unnoticed). Then, there was nothing to come but showtime.

  
“Jonathan!”

  
“Mr Groff!”

  
Well, nothing but a paparazzi storm. Then showtime. Caught up in the dazzling lights of publicity, he didn't see Renee and Rory whispering in the corner. Jon made a promise to himself, then and there, that he wouldn't get involved in any of their shenanigans. He didn't want disaster tonight. Too late now, anyway, as he was forced into putting on a mic. He clipped it onto his shirt collar, the black cutting into the pristine white adorning his throat. Jon nervously fiddled with his top button while Rory rushed around, armed with a fine toothed comb, looking about as ferocious as a pasty ginger wielding a hair comb could. That is to say, rather terrifying. He stopped short in front of Groff:

“Jon, hon.” He looked up, levelling Groff with a condescending smirk.

Swallowing nervously at the threatening force, Jon replied, “O’Malley. Tell me, how much hair gel did you get on your forehead to achieve such a shine?”

Brian raised a powerful eyebrow at them both. 

“Quit flirting you two. Rory, you're married for goodness sake. Jon-” the two tormentors shared a look. “-well, we’ll see.”

Rory snickered to himself and pocketed the comb, leaving Jon no less confused than before. He and the others ambled around until it was time to move.

“So, Jon.” Rory’s voice held an ominous lilt, too innocent sounding to be genuine innocence. “Have you seen Lin yet?” 

Jon frowned. He hadn't seen Lin yet. He hadn't seen Lin since he took off. He had barely talked to Lin while he was away. An ignored text here, a missed call there. Jon… missed him. It hit him like a wave; he missed his friend. He missed the loud greetings, the impromptu serenades, the soft smiles. Bleary eyes after a nap, the way his eyebrows would raise as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. Hands fumbling against hoodie sleeves (“Shit, Groff, I forgot how comfy this hoodie is. You shouldn't have let me drift off.”). Lin's mind shifting into focus, a lazy smile for a greeting. Jon felt his chest pang as he shook his head in response to Rory. Why hadn't he seen Lin yet?

(Why was he just  _ seeing _ him now?)

A voice from the tannoy sliced through the air, calling the kings to the stage. He shared smiles with Karen, Mandy and Renee as they left the stage together, a union of Angelicas. 

Jon took a breath. He'd sung this song a million times before. Swallowing the nerves, he strutted onstage as the music began to play, the opening chords to ‘You’ll be back’ met with an uproar of screams and cheers. He put one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other. Count the beats, the steady thrum of a swinging rhythm. Head held high, strain against the current of panic, chest forward, back straight, breathe. Just breathe. Release the notes from a trapped throat, swallow back bile and let the sound loose, let it drift away into the mass of noise. Close your eyes as you sing the high note (“and you can't go on”, how fitting) and pretend that the closed eyes are for concentration, not a momentary reprieve, a second of salvation from the onslaught of lights.

Let the laughter ripple around you as you pretend to fight with the others, hogging the stage when all you want is to turn the damn lights off, cut out your damn voice and release that sinful songbird, maybe then it'll stop pecking and nipping for a sweet, sweet escape. Ignore the floor swaying beneath you, old friend stop waving please. Ignore the eyes on you, each one hiding a story behind them. Focus on the rush, that terrifying thrill that comes from fear. Feel it flood you, maybe you're drowning but maybe you're not, maybe you just grew gills but breathing air hurts too damn much, maybe submerging yourself for just a moment (is indulgence really such a bad thing) would be best. 

Jon was shocked to realise that Brian was wrong, it wasn't Velcro pants at all. Rory had whipped out a pair of heels halfway through and proceeded to dance in them. Apparently it was hilarious. 

At least, that's what he'd heard, backstage. He'd know if he actually remembered any of it.

“No offence but,” Rory grinned, spinning around to point directly at Brian, and then Jon. His face was flushed red, still pumped with adrenaline. “I smoked you bitches.”

Everyone laughed good naturedly, Jon taking that as his cover to make an exit. He decided to loiter in the hallway, the cooler air making his shirt cling to himself in the most uncomfortable way. He would have gotten away with loitering, too, if another figure hadn't been doing the very same thing.

In a cool hallway, much like the last time they'd really spoken, barring hurried exchanges and fleeting grins, stood Jon’s own tormentor.

“Hey.”

The voice was soft, a velvet call. Jon turned around, facing the accused. He stood there under a fluorescent light, cheeks illuminated by an artificial glow, unable to wash out the genuine glow beneath. His head rested against the white wall, dark hair and dark eyes standing out as a stark contrast. He was thumbing his belt loops, hands twitching in a subdued expression of that perpetual nervous energy. Heaven above, he was  _ gorgeous _ . He was seeing the man with new eyes, raking in the slight lift of a smile, the tired but bright eyes, the healthily mussed hair.

“Hey.”

Jon managed to croak back, looking directly at Lin. Lin, the one who's been there for years to encourage him on. Lin, the one who's seen him grow and shrink, break and rise. Lin, the one who's held him while crying and forced him into laughter. Lin, the one.

A sad flicker crossed the smaller man’s face as he looked down, pushing himself off the wall. Before walking away, Jon swore he heard Lin murmur. “good luck tonight”.

He stared at the back of the retreating form, mouth agape. Oh god, why now for an epiphany. Why now, did he hear the voice telling him to chase after Lin, why now did he have to realise why he always wanted to. Why now did he have to go to do his fucking song?

He frowned all the way up the stairs, and to the wings where he got his mic set up. Why now? But, the crowd called. He strode up to the mic, ignoring trembling fingers and sweaty hands against cold metal. 

“So, as some of you may know, I was in a tiny little show a few years back called Spring Awakening,” this was met with noises of affirmation, or just mindless screaming. It was hard to tell the difference. He smiles at the enthusiasm, though. “Well, I’m going to be doing a song from that show, a personal favourite of mine.” 

He smiled, mostly to himself, and looked at his shoes.

“Oh,” he added as an after thought. “It’s not Mama Who Bore Me, sorry.”

(He knew Lin was laughing at that, somehow.)

He signalled for the music to begin, and threw himself into the guitar chords. Eyes shut, what even was he blocking out anymore, he opened his mouth to free the songbird. It came fluttering out, gently formulating syllables and sounds. It danced around the microphone, and coaxed his eyes into slipping open. 

He swore he could see Lin, rapt and attentive. Hooked on every note. Body leaning forward, like he was trying to fall into the music, maybe embrace the stave on which it was written. He felt his voice turn breathy, short gasps littering the lines.

“Touch me, just like that…”

He felt his lips brush the cold of the microphone, a reminder that he was treading in treacherous territory. For the first time, he found himself not caring. He ignored the beating, pounding of the syncopated drum in his chest. He barely proceeded the regular beats, keeping him in time, in check, in one damn lane. He pushed out the bridge, close to belting the words with such passion, such conviction, such affirmation.

“No more shadows, anymore.”

“No more weeping, anymore.”

With one final riff, he recaptured the songbird. He reveled in the momentary silence. The buzzing of his mind now reduced to nothing, all noise obliterated by the truth he'd found. Silence, pure and affirming.

It was actual hell, not being able to see him. Granted, he only had to wait another few hours but still. Jon had forgone the after party, in favour of just heading home. He'd poured himself a glass of wine, a lonely, somber congratulation. He was about to go to bed, when a knock came from the door. 

Face to face, once again, with the menace.

“Hey.”

An echo of the past, a flash of recognition at the uncanny repetition.

“Can I come in?” 

His soft voice was laced with tenderness, as if he were talking to a scared animal. Jon moved aside to allow the other man entry, and with an ominous click the door swung shut.

The air was terse, moving was like wading through a hip level pool, making progress but the burn wouldn't go ignored. Should they ignore it? Should both of them just watch the kindling, never drawing nearer to that omnipotent spark between them?

Jon’s sigh seemed to tear the moment apart, and a furrow made it's way to Lin’s brow.

“Hey, Groffsauce.” Lin breathed, going for humour. He grabbed the taller man’s arm and gently dragged him to the couch. Once seated, Lin turned to him. “Please, talk to me.”

Jon shook his head.

He found Lin's fingers dancing across his temple, delicately smoothing the frown he found there. They stopped moving, and found purchase on the nape of Jon’s neck, light drumming movements a tangible reminder. He's not alone. He's not alone. He's not alone. Jon’s mouth curled into a self depreciating smile as Lin moved in closer to hear the mumbling. The fingers tightened in a more possessive hold, a comfort of sorts, while Jon fought the urge to curl up into himself. 

All of a sudden, Jon shot up, racing into the kitchen area. He busied himself around, throwing a glass into the sink, wiping down countertops, pointedly ignoring Lin. 

“Jon. You don't want to be sad anymore.”

Jon threw down the rag he was cleaning with, and spun around on his heel. He directed a glacial glare at Lin, pointing an accusatory finger straight at his chest.

“You don't know a goddamn thing about what I want.” Jon hissed.

“Then tell me! Talk to me, Jon!” Lin's voice edged on a shout, trembling with frustration and desperation.

Jon’s mouth shot open.

“Talk to you?” Jon was spitting his words now, cant laced with venom. “Are you fucking kidding me? How about you return my calls if you want me to tell you.”

Lin's face fell, and he made a placating gesture with his hands as he shuffled forward, feet dragging on tile floor. 

“I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for just dropping everything and running.”

Jon scoffed. “Sorry doesn't even cut it. I was fucking concerned about you. And to just get ignored like that?”

“Jon, please-”

“No.” Jon ignored the pleading, and looked at Lin directly. His voice came out no louder than a whisper, sounding utterly wrecked. “I thought we were friends.”

Lin rushed forward, grappling Jon into a hug. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the hot tears streaming from Jon’s eyes.

“Lin, I missed you.”

Lin cradled Jon’s face in his palms, pulling him closer. Whispered apologies spilled from numb lips. Jon stared at his mouth moving, flitting between words and promises, he watched as the sentences twisted and tangled in the air, stringing together in a mess of sorrow. Jon cut the flow.

Lin was shocked into silence with the sudden press of lips to his. The pressure increased, Jon pressing his eyebrows together in concentration. Their mouths slipped together in blinding bliss, Lin focusing on the warmth emanating from Jon’s body against his. It was better than he could have ever imagined, the soft caress of his lips against his own. Jon's arms tangled around Lin's neck, as Lin wound his fingers into the soft hair atop Jon's head. He gave it an experimental tug, and was rewarded with a soft, stuttering moan, Jon's mouth parting. Lin delved in with his tongue, tasting Jon, kissing him like a dying man with passion and flair.

They pulled apart slowly, Jon's lips glistening with spit, pupils blown up, visible still in the low light. Jon rested his forehead on Lin's, the flickering flame in his stomach dancing with excitement.

“Fuck.” 

Jon's stomach dropped. Was that wrong? Oh god he'd messed up. Jon extracted himself from the embrace, arms cradling his body.

“I'm so sorry Lin I-”

“Jon…”

“I don't know what came over me-”

“Jon.”

“I'm so sorry-”

“Jon!”

“I think you should leave.”

Lin's heart shattered. Wordlessly trudging through the somber air, he grabbed his coat and headed to the door.

“Jon, you gotta know I-”

“Just go.”

Over the next 24 hours, Jon ignored exactly twelve calls, and twenty-four texts. How could he face Lin, face anyone, after what happened? God, he was stupid, throwing away the one good thing he had. And for what? The single best kiss of his life? He'd take it all back if it meant he could see Lin’s dumb face just one more time. 

His moping was cut short by insistent knocking, startling Jon into spilling ramen down his shirt. From his groove in the couch, he heard the knocks grow louder and more urgent until:

“For fuck's sake Jon! Open up!”

A beat.

“Jonathan Groff I swear I'll sneak in at night and steal one sock from every pair!”

He reluctantly opened the door to see a glaring Renee. A comment passed about the noodle shirt, and she invited herself in.

“Now,” she started, sitting with poise and purpose. “You wanna tell me why Lin came to my house crying?”

Jon's impassive gaze never wilted. He carried on staring straight ahead, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Okay then. Wanna tell me why you haven't responded to any of my calls?”

“I was busy.” He croaked. 

“Bullshit!” Renee shot up from her seat in an uncharacteristic bout of rage. She steeled him with an icy glare, unyielding and strong. “That's a pile of bullshit and you know it. You hurt him, Jon!”

“Stop.”

“You broke his heart! And all you have to say for yourself is you were preoccupied!”

“Please.”

“He's in pieces because of you!”

“I said that's enough!”

The electric air buzzed with unresolved anger as their shouting reached a crescendo. Jon's eyes were wild and his body was shaking (why was it always shaking?).

“I know, Renee. I know. But what do you expect me to do? I don't deserve him. I just-” he took a short breath. “- I'll never be enough for him.”

She scanned his body, the crumpled clothes, the stained shirt, haphazard hair. She met his eyes with a pitying look.

“Sort your shit out.” 

She up and left, slamming the door behind her. Jon stared at the seat she'd just occupied. Jesus, he didn't want to admit it but he had a problem. He needed Lin. He needed his stupid jokes, contagious laugh, intoxicating smile.

With a renewed sense of importance, Jon grabbed his helmet and prepared to get his bike.

After new pants. 

The rain began almost as soon as he'd left, a shitty omen. Undeterred, he pressed on, thighs burning with effort as he weaved around the city. He blinked the rain from his eyes, refusing to allow anything or anyone to obscure his path. The fire was awakened within him, an indestructible driving force. He was in love with that asshole, and he'd be damned if he didn't know about it. 

Harshly turning a corner, his back wheel skidded as he launched himself off the bike itself. He stood to attention and walked, with purpose toward the door. He ignored the self-preservation part of his brain, and decided that this was the best choice. A droplet slithered down his back as he fought every instinct to run, hide away. His jacket clung to him ever tighter as it became more saturated by the second. It stuck to every inch of his skin, growing heavier and more oppressive. He felt his heart clench in his chest, fluttering in an aborted prayer. Last chance. He tapped on the door, three clear raps.

His heart leapt when his eyes met Lin's. Despite sunken eyes and oversized clothes, he looked… ethereal. His emanating glow pulsed in waves, a sense of security and home. Time seemed suspended as Jon stood there, glued to the spot, pinned in place by a rush of affection. His breath hitched slightly, a soft gasp of realisation (of acceptance).

Blurry eyes. Mussed hair.

_ No more weeping, anymore. _

The two men converged, later on neither would be able to tell you who initiated the kiss. Only that they wanted to remain there forever. Jon's damp hair became knotted in Lin's fist as he explored his mouth. They drew each other in, mouths tilting just so until they were both equally breathless and the flame of affection ignited. There they remained, floating in eternal bliss,  _ “I love you” _ ‘s muttered against swollen lips. The songbird set free.

Lin pulled him inside by the front of his jacket, and made no haste in throwing it from Jon’s body. Their teeth clacked together as Lin manhandled Jon, crowding him into the wall. He pushed back, and the back of his head lightly hit the solid wall behind him. They were close, so close as Lin grabbed Jon’s sides with blunt nails. He harshly forced his tongue into Jon’s mouth, greedy and demanding. He happily obliged, mouth opening wider in a grin as he took the ravishing. Lin tore himself away for a second to catch his breath, and looked at Jon with intent. 

“We, uh-” Jon was distracted mid sentence by the darkening of Lin’s eyes. “We should probably talk.”

From under thick eyelashes, a pair of eyes roamed Jon's face. A beat.

“Yeah.” Lin growled, face partially obscured by a mass of brown hair. “Probably.”

With that he was dragging Jon to his bedroom, and kicking the door shut behind him.

  
_ (Now, that's heaven) _

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Projecting onto Jonathan Groff? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Come yell at me on Tumblr @alisonone


End file.
